Original Horror
The Strong and the Many By Sarah Genereaux
The darkness breathed in the cavernous tomb. The walls
of granite that formed their underground catacombs had served as
a shelter and a symbol. They were carved with the ancient rites
and laws that governed their species and glowed now as if alive
through the inconstant flickering of a single torch blazing in the
center of the central cavern. To those in the room, the darkness
was not their cloak. It revealed all to their pale eyes. The circle
of light was empty, devoid even as the outer rim of darkness writhed
with beings. The light was also a symbol and even more feared than thoughts of rites or rituals.
A battle had begun among the most powerful of their kind and they
stood divided as the accusers and the accused. The accusers stood
many but weak. They had forsaken their natures and now never ventured
to the world above. They "sanctified" their blood of mice and deer,
too frightened of the unknown mortals to test their luck. They now
only practiced the dark rites in their misery.
However, the others had not fallen into a weak cowardly life. They
were few but strong. They ventured into the cities, danced in the
moonlight, and drank from the font of life. They chose their prey
carefully. None of the innocents were taken. None that would be
missed. But the evildoers. The wrongers of men. He deserved his
lot in life. So the strong stood proud and glorious and cursed by
the jealous many who gazed upon their restored and powerful forms with hate and fear.
"Do you think you are better? That you deserve more? You that has
betrayed us with your decadence! Rogue, bastard, bloodmongrel!"
Albere called across the space that divided their once united sect.
Albere had a fine bone structure and a deliberate, controlled way
of moving and now every tendon within him seemed to vibrate with
emotion as he stepped slightly forward. His hand was raised in gesture
and he gazed at it a moment before swinging the black hatred of
his eyes to his opposer. He receded back from the light without
seeming to move then, with a surreal power, his voice roared from him, "YOU ARE NOT ONE UF US!"
The hoard behind him moved restlessly, shifting their weight, as
they snarled and screeched in unison, their eyes beady and intent with their fervor.
"I care no more for your secret meetings and politics, Albere.
Call me ROGUE, but WE are Vampires! Powerful creatures born of ancient
rites. Rites carved upon these very walls so that we may grow strong
and many!" The fiery intent of Vincent's speech captivated the vampires.
He enchanted them all. His hair was long and fell straight almost
to his elbow and his eyes bespoke power as much as how he carried
himself, with complete self-assured confidence. "You are lost,"
his voice was low and vehement as he stepped forward, grasped the
torchstake thrusting it high aloft so it illuminated the horrified
shrinking vampires, "you are nothing!"
That this enchanting figure should not bend to them and be as them
made their rage boil up so that it could no longer be contained
or controlled. The room that had held their most sacred blood rituals
deep within the heart of their world was once again steeped in blood.
They fought against their own kind. The supernatural shrieks and
crys of battle rent the air. The strong threw aside the weak, scrambling
figures but the endless mass kept coming at them, fangs bared, hands
clawing, and terrible snarls of hate.
Their own kind against them in the combined power of their mass
forced the strong back. The rogues ripped at frailer limbs and tossed
aside vampires and as the blood spilled and they heard the cracking
of bone, they wept. As their kind, their species, their family fought
and injured them they wept but still they fought with all the ferocity
and rage that was in their body, nature, and souls.
Finally, the open darkness of the world above shrouded softly in
the gray light of dawn. The world the others would never venture
into. The world only they of their kind could thrive in. But they
were weak and injured and shelter from the burning sun must be found
NOW! The battle had taken its toll on Vincent and he knew he could
not go far. With a pained smile he sped his brethren on relieved
they had escaped the kindred below and knowing they could survive
and well in this world of delights.
"Run, shield yourself," his whispered voice carried to their ears,
"we will be together again. I will find you but you must find blood. Heal."
They turned, their lean powerful forms raced with inhuman speed,
breaking through the trees. Vincent turned to the opening of the
cave mouth where Albere still lurked, pale and tense and roared
with all his vampiric power and ferocity, his whole body bowing
upward and his fangs terrifyingly big and sharp. Albere faltered
back for a second, his hand grasping the wall, but then he receded back into the darkness.
Vincent knew his cry of victory and pain had reached every vampiric
ear and his top lip curled back in a satisfied smile. So much of
the sustaining blood had been drained from him, so many wounds that
could not yet be healed throbbed and bled yet still. His eyes lost
focus and his knees hit the ground. He gasped at the sudden impact
as the pain and weakness became too much. He could no longer hold
himself up proud and strong and he collapsed onto the ground.
The raw sound ripped through Aeris like a physical blow. She leaned
forward grasping her middle as tears welled in her light blue eyes
and spilled onto the pale skin of her cheek. Urgency pulsed through
her, hot and painful. Her feet pounded the ground as she raced toward
its source leaping and flying through the woods in her haste towards
some inexplicable feeling that there was someone, a powerful being, that needed her.
Her heart slowed as did her steps.
Careful and wary, she stepped lightly, silently, her eyes wide
and anxious. Softly and quietly, she moved away from the trees to
the prone body she now saw. His features bespoke death but his eyelids
gently fluttered as she kneeled beside him. She leaned down and
licked the wound on his neck and sighed as the sweetest blood drenched
her tongue. Too much blood. The loss of it was catastrophic and he must be healed.
She was outside their realm. She'd always been lost and alone on
her dark path but she knew how it was done just the same. She slid
one hand through the wavy silk of his hair to the back of his head
and the other she wrapped around his strong shoulder as she hoisted
him up from the ground. Even in his listless death state his whole
body radiated grace and magnetic beauty as she brought him to her
chest. His body expanded slightly at the renewed excitement of her
nearby presence and the smell of her blood. His face was intent
and expectant as she lowered his head to her neck, his eyes still
closed. But his teeth did not puncture her hard, pale skin. Lax
as if in the deepest sleep. Aeris slid her hand into the silky
fall of his hair as she stretched upward flesh accepting, yielding,
tempting. And as the healing vampiric blood pulsed beneath the sharp
points of Vincent's fangs he groaned and surged into her, his hand
grasping her head while his arm latched around her waist. Sh!
e smiled as she felt him smile against her throat. He threw his
head back, hair waving to the ground, as he laughed with the ecstasy of it.
He gazed up at his savior. Her body was strong and lean and her
intensity was offset by a rare sweetness. She was a creature of
the night, a survivor, a true brethren and she was glorious.
"Have you ever danced in the pale moonlight," Vincent whispered.
"I like to try it sometime, my darling devil." Aeris answered as
she supported him . Her blood still smudged his lips as they stood there.
Vincent smiled and looked back to the ominous eastern sky. "Tomorrow
night, my dear, we shall begin." Vincent breathed as he grabbed
her hand and turned to the western horizon as they ran with all the their supernatural power.
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